


If I come through tonight (baby can I stay a while)

by Spicyturnip4567



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Abuse, Alice's POV, Asshole Hal Cooper, F/M, FP's POV, I write these things and just keep going, Protective FP Jones II, Someone needs to officially stop me, They are all young, Violence? Very minor though, dark themes, im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 07:12:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18047966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spicyturnip4567/pseuds/Spicyturnip4567
Summary: FP was never one to overly care about other people’s problems. Lord knows, he’s had enough of his own.So why does it bother him so much that his pretty little neighbour has a proclivity for bruising and sad eyes?





	If I come through tonight (baby can I stay a while)

FP Jones _seriously_ needed a massage. His neck was always fucking aching these days – he blamed  the couch.

Not having a job for a while there really made a dent in his savings, and not having enough money for a _bed_ was atrocious. He distinctly remembers what it felt like to actually be comfortable at the end of a long day. Well, before he got put away.

Prison changes a person. It’s not that he wasn’t an asshole when he went in – for sure, he had done some grade-A bullshit. But coming out of prison turns you into a different kind of asshole altogether. He didn’t expect to feel like such _scum_ of the fucking _earth._ People end up treating you a certain way for a while, and you end up acting like it. He supposed he _was_ a fuckup, really. The Serpents were the only family he had left, which spoke for his temperament.

The full bottle of whiskey is what he saw when he opened his eyes. Hell, he sees it every morning. He doesn’t know why he keeps it, why he doesn’t just tip it down the damn sink, but – it helps. He doesn’t know why, doesn’t know if it’s some kind of bizarre placebo effect, having it _there_ but never touching it. Maybe it was an exercise in self-control.

He feels like he doesn’t know enough about it to conclude.

The early mornings were starting to get to him, regardless of how comfortable his sleep was. Six am starts meant he _couldn’t_ drink, couldn’t fuck up like he did before. Sure, he had the weekends off, but for what? He had nothing. Nothing to show for his 28 years. The only real constant in his life was his bike, and he had neglected her for so long that even she refused to work for him.

_(The poor girl had stale fuel and a clogged carburettor. Fucking more money.)_

So walking to and from his job seemed to be the only way to go, for now. He hated it, because the cigarettes he smoked made it hard to breath in the chill of winter, made his chest tight and his cough sharp and stinging. He didn’t care enough to stop.

In his experience, caring only made everything harder. Made him realise that he could control nothing, and the world would go on regardless of whether he cared or not.

He dragged himself up from his prone position on the beaten-up couch and cracked his neck uncomfortably, groaning as he did so. He should really at least buy a bed, just in case his neck ended up in a permanent ninety-degree angle.

 _Maybe next pay-check,_ he thought.

Padding into the kitchen in bare feet, he fought against the shivers that came with no heating. The apartment he rented was a one bedroom, old and worn, but not awful - not really. He didn’t have much to compare it to, anyway. He was sure some tenants had heating, because the noisy generators out the back ran almost constantly now that it was mid-June – he guessed he just drew the short stick.

Not that he was bothered.

His toes protested, aching on the cold tiles, and he wiggled them, willing them to warm up. They would get warm soon, anyway, when he put his boots on. But coffee was the priority here.

FP never really ate breakfast, even as a kid. He would always reach for the cigarettes his dad snuck into the house before food of any sort. He guessed that’s why he was so lean now, never able to put on weight. He was always a skinny kid, unhealthy and sallow. Old habits die hard.

At least he’d filled out during puberty.

The warmth of the coffee once he poured it – _instant, as always –_ returned some feeling to his fingers, and he flexed them once, twice, before downing the rest of the liquid gold and strode to the sink to splash his face. It took a while before the water warmed enough for him to do so, and he sighed heavily as he scrubbed at his tired eyes.

 _Fuck this,_ he thought, not for the first time and certainly not for the last.

 

**\---**

 

On this particular day, Alice Smith thought that maybe she cared too much.

Cared to much about her boyfriend, about her job, about appearances – it was a constant battle. She wanted everyone to think she was happy, she _had_ to make sure everyone thought she was happy.

Not that she was.

“Hey, baby,” she greeted Hal warmly. It was five o’clock in the afternoon, and he’d just strode inside with a scowl on his face that made her stomach swoop. “How was your day?”

He didn’t make eye contact, never did these days, but grunted in annoyance. “Shit, Alice. It was shit.”

She sighed, internally rolling her eyes. She knew he didn’t like to touch her when he was like this, so she backed off slightly, turning around with the pretence of making tea, masking the hurt that didn’t seem to diminish over time.

“What happened?” Alice tried, flicking the kettle on and bringing two mugs down from the top cupboard.

Hal Cooper was a man of few words. She knew this when she moved in with him. She didn’t think it would ever get this bad, but it had. So she wasn’t surprised when, instead of answering, he ignored her completely and stalked his way to the single bedroom, flinging his coat onto the couch on his way.

Her insides hurt, _stung_ , her skin prickling in shame. What was wrong with her? She tried _so hard._

She counted to twenty as the kettle growled, finally reaching to pour the water with shaky hands. She let it brew for a second, taking deep breaths, _in, out…_

The milk was in the fridge, along with some of the cake she had made last night. Maybe he was hungry? She thought briefly about cutting him a slice, thinking that might cheer him up…

She heard the bedroom door open again, heard his footsteps come up behind her. Felt his arm snake around her waist in _that_ way, the way that she _knew_ meant he wanted her…

“Hal, baby, why don’t we finish this tea first?” She suggested, trying to keep her voice light. His hand trailed down in between her legs, firm and insistent.

“I have cake in the fridge?” She tried again, wiggling out of his grasp. His hands tried to follow her but she was too quick, and she forced a smile again before she turned to face him. His expression made her insides lurch in a strange way.

 _Why is it always like this?_ She thought, panicky and wild. She fought to keep her breathing even, knew it would just make him angrier.

She had failed, going by the disdainful look on his face. “Why do you make that _stupid_ face when I touch you? You just need to chill out, Alice, Jesus.”

He glanced down at the tea, now, picking it up and pouring it down the sink in one motion. “I’d rather a beer.” He said lowly, turning to the fridge and pulling out a bottle. Her heart sank.

He looked her up and down again, saw her hands clenched into fists, and rolled his eyes. “You could use one too, by the look of it.”

She turned and walked away, even as he huffed in annoyance, following her, anger building in his eyes. Her heart hammered wildly, and her skin felt hot and sensitive – she didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to _deal_ with it tonight, wished she just had a damn _break_ from it all.

But she had nowhere to go, so when his open hand met the skin of her cheek she closed her eyes and drifted.

 

\---

It was around six at night when FP returned home from work. It had been a long, trialling day, and he was just looking forward to dinner – pizza in the oven – and tv. God, what a shit fucking life.

As he was trudging up the stairs in his squeaking boots, wet with snow, he heard footsteps coming the other way, so he hugged the guardrail on his left and kept his eyes down. He liked not knowing his neighbours, it kept things simple and anonymous – no awkward greetings in the hallways, no one asking him to turn his music down, no one knowing who he actually was.

Even as he heard the footsteps get closer, he didn’t look up, didn’t _see_ who was coming down the stairs, but he certainly _felt_ them when they crashed together, his shoulder buckling unexpectedly, nearly throwing him to the ground. He grunted, annoyed and thrown off balance, and he shot around to ask the person _what the hell,_ before the words die in his throat.

He came to his senses as he finally realised he’s just decked a tiny blonde woman, and he felt a twinge of guilt.

“Jesus,” he felt himself say before he could stop it, “are you alright?”

The woman was breathing fast, but that was probably the shock of falling on her ass. She shook her head, looking up at him, eyes wide, and probably the deepest shade of blue he’d ever seen. _Fuck._

Her face struck him, too, with just how smooth her skin was.

How the curls of her hair fell in wisps down her back.

How -

 _Fucking keep a lid on it, FP,_ he thought darkly.

She huffed out a laugh, short and sharp, before looking down at herself. “I think so. Sorry about that. I didn’t hear you coming.”

He came to himself, annoyance building in his gut again, but at _himself_ this time.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t – I mean, I heard you, but I guess I just wasn’t paying attention.” He remembered his manners, holding out his hand to help her up.

She stared at it for a solid second, making him self-conscious, before she smiled and took it, shocking him with how soft her hands were. He hoisted her up, and he took note of the fact that she only came up to his chest in height, and felt another jolt of guilt. _Why do you care, asshole?_

She dusted herself off, shoulders tense again with the silence that ensued. He wanted to speak again, to apologise, _again,_ but the feeling felt foreign to him and so he did nothing, continued to gaze apprehensively at the woman in front of him as she gathered herself up.

He was jolted when she made eye contact again, smile on her face that looked friendly, but _off,_ if that was even a _thing_ –

“I’m Alice. Do you live here, too?” She asked, patting her hair down.

He felt uncomfortable, he didn’t really like _introductions,_ but cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, fourth floor. I’m FP.” He shifted his feet, not knowing where to look.

Her head tilted. “FP?” She asked, raising one eyebrow.

He sighed, looking down. “It’s better than the alternative. Nickname, see.” He explained, suddenly feeling tight in the chest again. He needed out. “Well, nice to meet you, but I’d better…” He jerked his thumb at the stairs, lost for words.

She looked a little put-off, but awkwardly nodded and stepped down. “See you around.” She said quietly, and he felt her eyes following him as he turned and continued his climb up the stairs. He didn’t hear her footsteps after that.

 

\---

Alice’s bum was sore as she stood there, bewildered. _He was…_

 _Odd,_ her brain supplied, and she couldn’t disagree. She realised she was still standing there, in the dingy stairwell, and hugged her jacket around her body just a little tighter, remembering the cruel hand that had tried to wrench it off her body less than five minutes ago. She didn’t really want to go back home tonight, but didn’t have much of a choice.

 _Well,_ she thought. _I don’t have to go home straightaway._

She turned, then, decided, and continued her way down the stairs, focussing on putting one foot in front of the other. One hand on the hand rail, and the other rubbing her sore backside, she winced as she recalled slamming into the stranger.

She was good with strangers. They were easy – easy to read, to manipulate, easy to _lie_ to. Most people never really paid attention to others, but Alice secretly took pride in being perceptive where others weren’t.

What had absolutely thrown her was the strangers’ eyes. Dark, like ink, and so _intense_ that she had actually struggled to maintain eye contact. His eyes held something soulful.

She rolled her eyes at herself, thinking she was being ridiculous.

He was tall and lean, and _how_ she had been living on the same floor as him and not known it, she will never know. He was handsome, in a rugged, rough, _dark_ kind of way.

Shame burned in her gut when the thought crossed her mind. She was unbelievably grateful Hal hadn’t been with her, she could only imagine –

 _Stop._ She rubbed her eyes, probably messing up her mascara, but who was going to see her now? Hal certainly didn’t care. Her cheek still stung, and she felt tears burn in her eyes at the memory. It wasn’t _fair,_ she did everything she could, if only he would _tell her_ what he wanted she could just be better.

She felt a sob rise in her thought and she tamped it down, fist coming up to stifle it. A few hot tears trailed their way down her face, and she hastily tried to wipe them away, makeup be damned. She felt herself giving up then, legs folding and she sunk, back to the guardrail, and hunched herself in the corner by the fire escape, where she always did.

_It’s not fucking fair._

 

\---

It was a couple of days later when Alice saw FP again, and for the second time, it was by accident.

She had just finished grocery shopping, and was stubbornly trying to cart all of them up in one go – two trips be damned. It was getting dark out, and the night time chill made her arms numb in a way that made it difficult to keep going. She heard someone coming up behind her, boots squeaky, and she tried to stop, turn so she could let the person past, but as she did so felt the paper give way with a small tearing sound, felt the cans fall through her arms as they all crashed to the ground, and she winced, embarrassment flooding her system as her cheeks reddened.

“Whoa, hey, let me –“ a familiar voice spoke, and suddenly one of her arms were free from a bag. She hoisted the other bag onto her hip, confused, until she saw who had taken it.

“FP?” She asked, feeling clenching anxiety in her gut. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to, I’ll just – “

“Wait, hold on.” He interrupted, frowning down at the cans at his feet. “How about we take these bags up first, then come back for the rest. Yeah?” He looked up, face serious, and she felt naked when he met her eyes. Alice found herself nodding, remembering that Hal wouldn’t be home until later tonight.

“Sure. Thank you.” She managed around the lump in her throat. He gestured for her to lead the way and she reluctantly turned, starting the climb once again.

“It’s nothing. So what floor are you on?” His smooth tenor held no intent, but she couldn’t help but wonder if she could trust this man when she had only just met him. She didn’t even know his real name.

“The fourth floor,” she found herself saying. “403.”

“Oh, a few doors from me.” He sounded genuinely surprised, and she wished she could see his face right now. As they reached the door for the fourth floor, she used her hip to try to push the door open but failed spectacularly. She heard a huff of amusement behind her and she blushed again, feeling stupid, before she felt a hand move over her should to shove the door open for her.

 _God, he’s right behind me._ She could smell him from this distance, like cigarettes and diesel, something so unlike Hal and something so undeniably _masculine_ that she felt a flutter in her stomach, quickly followed by a stab of guilt. _What was wrong with her?_

She slinked into the hallway, throwing back a sheepish smile at him. He smirked in return, eyes full of mirth, practically pinning her to the wall with how intense they were.

She managed to tear her eyes away to fumble with her keys, fishing them out of her jacket pocket and shakily opening the door, holding it back to usher him inside.

He followed easily, casually, and she flicked on the light, illuminating the kitchen in brightness.

“Thank you, you really didn’t have to.” She placed the bag on the counter, and he followed suit.

“Don’t worry about it, really.” He said, smirk still in place. She hesitated, taking note of the grease stained overalls and gestured to him.

“So, mechanic?” She guessed, giving him a grin as she grabbed a plastic bag from under the sink, hoping it would do for the mess of groceries in the stairwell.

He looked down at himself, smirk widening, and shrugged nonchalantly. “What gave it away?” He sniped, eyes meeting hers again, before narrowing in on her face, smirk dropping. He took a step forward, and his mouth twisted unpleasantly, making her pulse quicken in anxiety. She had totally forgotten –

“What’s that shiner from?” He gestured to her face, eyebrow quirking.

She ignored the horrible twist in her gut; a mixture of panic, misery and horror stabbing at her like it always did when someone probed her. She didn’t like saying that she was used to these sorts of questions, but it was the honest truth. It was so easy to lie, and she had one rolling off her tongue before she knew it, face blank.

“I’m a nurse, one of the patients got a bit too wild.” She smiled, painting it onto her face, the same way she had done a million times and it fooled everyone, except…

Except his eyes narrowed even further, scanning her face…

…before he seemed to remember himself. He cleared his throat, dropping eye contact as she started moving towards the front door, feeling a bit too exposed in front of this man. She heard his footsteps following her, and when they reached the communal hallway she turned, forcing a smile onto her face again.

“Hey, thanks again, I got it from here. I owe you one.” She said as she pulled the door shut. She looked up at him again and saw his inky black eyes scanning her face, unsure now. He hesitated, just for a second, before she saw his shoulders drop slightly, like he was forcing them to relax.

“No, you don’t. Take care, Alice.” His face was dark as he turned on his heel and started walking away, shoulders hunching, boots squeaking.

It was the first time she heard him say her name, and she knew the shiver that ran through her wasn’t from the cold.

 

\---

FP, honestly, needed more weekends.

No, fuck that, he just needed more time to go places, to do things, the things that he didn’t get to do in prison. First, though, he needed to start fixing things. Patch up the bits of his life that he got wrong – well, the bits that he _could_ fix.

Starting with his bike.

He cursed when he saw how mucky the carby had become. Reaching for the cleaner, he sprayed a generous amount – coating his fingers in the process – and sprayed some more. Wrinkling his nose at the smell, he twisted the small part around to check the underside, which appeared mostly okay.

FP felt his head spin a little bit with the assault on his olfactory system – he’d already drained the fuel, knowing it had been years since anyone had started this bike, let alone rode it. The smell was pungent.

He sighed, placing the carby down on some old newspapers so it could dry properly. He thought about checking the battery as well, and then groaned at idea – it would take _forever_ for him to dismantle the seat to find it and he sat back, deciding that was for future FP to worry about. He hated how finicky bikes could be. Cars, sure. Bikes – they were just that much smaller, harder for large hands to work with.

He scrubbed at his hands in the sink, knowing full well he would never get the black grease stains out of them, and shook them dry as he packed up his tools.

The monotony of working on his bike had given him a chance to think. It had been weeks since he’d seen Alice, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried. That bruise – well, the excuse was valid enough, and either she was telling the truth, or she was a _very_ good liar.

It was just something in her smile, something off, something _wrong._ He hadn’t been able to put his finger on it before, but the more he thought about it, the more he felt he was right.

When she smiled, the light left her eyes.

And fuck it, he didn’t know why he cared. He didn’t know why he _wanted_ to care, which was the weirdest thing. He was a fucking asshole, shouldn’t get involved in anyone else’s life because he always _fucked it up._ Take his ex-girlfriend, for example.

She was always telling him he was lazy, no good. She told him to stop smoking. Told him to quit the Serpents – his family – and he point blank refused.

And in the end, she’d been right. He _was_ a fuck up. The opposite of the Midas touch.

FP laughed to himself.

Maybe if he hadn’t gone to prison, he wouldn’t be like this. He forgot that he was innocent, sometimes. He’d done some bad things, before the Serpents went straight and narrow. Drugs, mostly, nothing too wild. Before Gladys, and before prison, he thought he had a pretty decent moral compass. Not exactly due north, but not far off.

Now he was just fucked up.

But he didn’t care about all that now. He was starting a new leaf, he had a new job, and he still had the Serpents, and they had him. Quite honestly, they had been his backbone for years.

He was headed there now, despite the weather. A cold snap had left a sheet of ice on the ground, making walking difficult, but he hasd no trouble as he exited the garage, locking the door behind him. Since he kept his bike at the shop he works at, it’s only a two-minute walk to the Whyte Wyrm, the bar owned and operated by the Serpents – their _legit_ business. FP was offered leadership there once – which he declined, _obviously_. He couldn’t run his own life, let alone a business. It just wasn’t in him.  

It turned out to be exactly what he needed. A couple of hours laughing and goofing off, having a few drinks – coke only, for him – and cussing each other out. He felt like himself again, felt lighter when he finally left, slipping on the icy pavement only once on his trek home. It was well past nine o’clock, but he hoped he’d be asleep by ten. Early mornings had really changed him.

He chuckled to himself. _The new FP._

Buzzing himself through with his key, he opened the door to the staircase and took each step two by two, winding himself on the second set. He huffed for a few seconds before slowing himself down and taking them one by one, as usual.

Over the sound of his own breathing, he heard a sniffle. To his credit, he froze only momentarily before lifting his eyes up, seeing a hunched figure in the corner of the third set of stairs. He would recognise that pretty blonde head anywhere, he thought grimly.

He stopped when she didn’t look up, felt even more awkward when he saw the tear tracks running down her cheeks. He cleared his throat, trying his best not to be a dick.

“Hey, Alice, what’s up?” He hoped he sounded concerned rather than awkward. She looked up at him then, and his heart did a funny little twinge when he saw how sad her eyes looked. Concern swelled in his gut, and he felt uneasy over it, uneasy over this girl because for the first time since Gladys, he felt –

_Fuck off, FP, stop that train right now. You’re an asshole and you can’t change that._

She sniffled again, and fuck if that didn’t hurt him.

“Hard day.” Was all she supplied, looking up at him and he saw the blood fill her cheeks.

He sighed. “Can I ask why you’re here, in the dingy stairwell, instead of home?”

She shook her head, lips pressing together. “I just…don’t wanna go home right now.”

Something dark started to take shape in FP’s mind. It was fuzzy, indistinct, but he had a bad feeling about this sad, pretty girl in front of him and he couldn’t just _leave_ her here.

“Well…do you like instant coffee?” He suggested, holding out his hand for her to grasp.

She looked confused, nose wrinkling. “What?” She blurted, blinking.

FP grinned sheepishly. “You don’t wanna go home. I don’t want you on the stairwell this time of night. My place is open, if you’re confident I’m trustworthy.”

She looked thrown, which made him feel a bit…well, a bit crap, that depressed feeling creeping back into his chest like a vine around his heart. He shouldn’t have said anything, should’ve just –

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds…nice. Only if you’re happy to deal with tears.” She sniffled again, and reached up to place her small hand in his. He just smiled gently at her in return. The depression washed away , letting him breath clearly. He hoisted her up, and she dusted herself off, following him up the stairs when he looked back at her.

“You’ll have to excuse the state of my apartment. It’s…I’m just getting back on my feet.” He desperately tried to remember if he had left anything overly embarrassing out, like dirty underwear, but couldn’t. _Oh well,_ he thought. _It’s not like she’s going to be impressed either way._

They walked in silence until they reached his apartment door, when he noticed she was glancing anxiously back at her own door, foot tapping on the shitty hallway carpet. He thought that was a bit bizarre, but shrugged off the feeling.

He walked in first, turning on the light and doing the quickest inventory of his apartment he had ever done in his life. _Since when do you care, asshole?_

 She walked in tentatively after him, glancing around. If she was disappointed, she didn’t show it.

It’s not as if his place was awful, per se. He just didn’t have much. The single bedroom was empty at the moment, the worn leather couch being the only place to lie down. It looked old but cosy, comfortable, and was covered in blankets. His coffee table held the empty mug from this morning, and the whiskey bottle that had never been opened, but was bare otherwise.

The kitchen counter had a few tools on it, which he quickly moved to the side.

“Bring your work home with you?” She asked politely, gesturing to the spanner set.

“Part and parcel of the job.” He explained. “How do you take your coffee?”

She perched herself on one of his two barstools, and he stopped to stare for a second, shocked at how _natural_ it seemed. She was, by far, the prettiest thing in this apartment.

_(Not that it was hard.)_

“No sugar.” She said quietly, folding her hands together on the counter.

“Milk?” He asked, grabbing a bottle out of the fridge while the kettle boiled.

“Please,” she tried a smile, but it seemed a bit wobbly.

He poured water into two mugs when the kettle clicked, adding milk to both and sugar to his. He spun around, placing one mug in front of her.

“So,” he began awkwardly. “You don’t have to tell me by any means. But why the –“  He gestured to her face, wincing.

She sighed, blowing a breath over her coffee. “At the risk of sounding dramatic, I had a…disagreement with my boyfriend.” She murmured, eyes downcast. He didn’t know why, but he wanted those eyes on _him._

_Boyfriend. Jesus, FP, you really know how to pick ‘em._

FP’s eyes lingered on her face, knowing that wasn’t all. “Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked, tentatively, sheepishly, expecting a full rebuttal.

Evidently, it was the wrong thing to say as her big blue eyes filled with tears again, and she let out a tiny hiccup. He backpedalled wildly, anxious all of a sudden.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to – hey, it’s okay to cry, just…” He sighed. He was horrible at this – an asshole through and through.

He jerked in shock when he felt her hand rest on top of his awkwardly outstretched one, and looked up again to find her dewy eyes staring into him. He saw the uptick in the corners of her lips, and he smiled gently in return, somewhat assuaged that she was a _little_ okay.

“I didn’t mean to pry, Alice. I’m sorry.” He whispered, suddenly feeling the atmosphere around them change. He stared at her, and she met his unsure gaze with sad, empty eyes. It was a little surreal.

Finally, after what seemed like minutes, she let out a breath he didn’t realise she had been holding, and looked down at her hands again, chin wobbling.

“Can you keep a secret?” She whispered back, biting her lip. He felt dizzy, felt like he needed a drink, not goddamn _coffee,_ but tamped it down like he always did.

This girl – she was gonna kill him, with her pretty eyes and her soft skin. She was fucking beautiful, too beautiful to be here with him, in this fucking rundown apartment with a criminal like him –

 _An acquitted criminal,_ his brain reminded him, unhelpfully.

It didn’t matter. He would drag her down with him if they formed any more of a friendship then they already had, and there was no way of stopping it. He –

“FP?” She whispered, suddenly unsure, and he realised it had been too long for him to answer. He shook himself, blinking, and met her gaze again.

“Yes.” He answered her question. _Such a selfish bastard._

She drew her hand back from his, and he immediately missed its warmth. His hand felt cold now, too cold, and he rubbed it absentmindedly as he watched her gather her thoughts.

“My boyfriend – I think – “ she stopped again, rethinking. His gaze didn’t leave her face, drinking in every last expression.

“He hits me.” She said simply, shoulders slumping with the admission.

FP felt like someone had just kicked him in the fucking gut. He leaned back, jaw suddenly tight with rage, remembering the bruise on her face, _Jesus._ He straightened, feeling so many emotions he felt nauseous. He couldn’t – why did she…

 _Fuck,_ he thought.

This woman, this beautiful woman sitting in front of him, in _his_ apartment, was _battered._ He shook his head for the second time that night, trying to clear it.

 _What kind of motherfucker…okay,_ FP thought rationally, head swimming with rage. _She’s not yours, calm down. She’s not fucking yours. You don’t really know her. Calm the fuck down._

Once he managed to unclench his jaw, he started to breath, quietly and evenly. He rolled his shoulders, one at a time, dispelling any tension.

_Don’t be an asshole. She needs a friend._

“How long has this been going on?” He asked as gently as he could manage, watching her like a hawk, only to find that she was watching his reaction with bated breath.

Her eyes filled with tears again, but he refused to recant, he _couldn’t_ , he needed to fucking know.

“About a year. I moved in with him 9 months ago? But…I guess he didn’t really start until a few months back. It’s been getting… worse.” She hesitated for the barest of seconds, before continuing.

“It’s nothing I can’t physically handle.” She whispered, closing her eyes.

FP stood back at this. She was small, yes, but she was so hunched in on herself that she appeared _tiny,_ and his heart lurched. She was young, too young for shit like this. His hand clenched and unclenched, trying to release some tension at the thought.

“You shouldn’t fucking _have to.”_ He spat, and regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

She tensed, and another tear fell. Her mascara was starting to run, he noted dimly, as she wiped it away.

He took a deep breath in, forcing it out, and counted to ten. None of it made him feel any better.

“Look, I’m sorry. I – no one should have to go through that.” He muttered, running a hand through his hair and pulling. “You’re not…are you going back tonight?”

He felt like he knew the answer already.

“Yeah. I have nowhere else to go, FP.” She looked sick at the very thought. _That makes two of us, love._

He almost didn’t say it, knew he shouldn’t say it. “You…can stay here. I can take the floor.” He gestured to the couch, knowing it was a fruitless action.

She shook her head almost immediately. “Look, I’m sorry, I’ve already overstayed my welcome and I should really be getting back – “

He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t…think that’s a good idea.” He ground out, hating himself for every word he said. He didn’t know what _should_ happen right now. He was lost, and angry, and he needed to get a grip.

She tensed, before slumping. “It’ll be okay. I have to.” She whispered so softly that he barely heard her.

FP was at a loss. He let his hand slide from her shoulder, letting it fall, useless, by his side.

He could only watch as she walked to the door, before turning back to face him, eyes empty.

“I’m sorry for – everything. Thanks for the coffee.” She opened the door, casting shadows over her face so he couldn’t properly see it anymore.

“Wait.” He demanded, feet glued to the spot but eyes glued to her face. She hesitated, but didn’t turn back.

“Be careful. Please.” He sighed, hands clenched and eyes sliding shut in confusion and frustration. He didn’t hear her leave, but when he opened his eyes she was gone.

God, he hated himself.

 

\---

Alice had instantly regretted telling FP that night.

It wasn’t his reaction that bothered her – he had been nothing but supportive, even a tiny bit _protective._ The problem was she had opened up pandoras box in her head.

It had taken her a while to organise her thoughts. The conversation had spun her out, making her physically dizzy, but she was so flabbergasted when she remembered the look on FP’s face when she had told him. Hell, she had been crying, something that Hal was always telling her was annoying, that she shouldn’t do it, that it was something shameful.

But FP had told her it was _okay to cry._

She had panicked, in the end. Those deep, dark eyes of his saw right into her and she could tell. She could tell he was like her, perceptive and intelligent. It didn’t help at all that her skin prickled with heat whenever he was around, and her belly fluttered pleasantly when he smiled, the crookedness of his smirk warming her from the inside out.

And then, to make matters worse for her, she kept comparing everything about FP and Hal.

 Like now, for instance. Hal was sitting on the couch, beer in hand, while Alice watched him warily from the kitchen. She was making dinner, but she was absent minded and she had dropped a pot of boiled potatoes onto the kitchen floor, scalding her foot with hot water and making her cry out.

Hal barely even glanced her way. “You’ll clean that up, right?” She heard him mutter through the roaring of her ears and the sudden pain that lanced up her leg. Her vision suddenly blurry from tears, she abandoned the pot for a second to hobble to the bathroom – this needed cold water.

As she flicked on the tap in the shower, cold water giving her instant relief, she fought back the tears and tried to imagine what FP’s reaction would have been. Would he be concerned? Would he have gotten up, helped her to the bathroom? Would he be gentle, caring?

But she had to stifle those thoughts, because they only seemed to make her want to cry harder.

Hal didn’t hit her that night, didn’t even bother to talk. He just ate the dinner she had placed in front of him, and went back to the football. It was as much of a relief as it was hurtful, but that was when she knew.

She had to get out of here.

Honestly, the sudden feeling didn’t come with a rush of emotion like she thought it would. It was just like a switch flicked over in her brain, and with it came the panic of not knowing _where_ to go. Hal had cut her off from most of her friends, she was young, intelligent but with no real life experience, and she didn’t think she could afford a hotel.

She went to the stairwell to think about it, after Hal had gone to bed, but when she turn back to lock her apartment, she turned her head to look down the hallways at FP’s door. She hesitated, warring with herself for a full minute before deciding it couldn’t hurt to just listen to see if he was awake. She felt stupid and needy as she stepped up to put an ear to the wooden surface, listening. She heard the muted sounds of the tv, and it made her feel even lonelier, if that were possible. But she steeled herself, finding herself actually _wanting_ to see him, wanting to feel his gaze on her. So she raised her hand and knocked before she could think much more about it, and heat automatically started spreading over her skin in a strange mixture of shame and desire.

She only had to wait about ten seconds before she heard the lock click over and the door opened slightly, then further when he realised who it was.

“Alice?” FP’s smooth voice sounded a bit rough with fatigue, and she felt guilty immediately.

“Sorry, FP, I didn’t mean to bother you…” She bit her lip, eyes glued to his face, drinking his sharp features in.

He immediately turned to glance down the hallway, eyes hard. “Is everything alright?”

She was quick to reassure him. “Yes? Yes. I just needed to talk to you about what I told you last week.”

He looked back at her, eyes softening, before he nodded once, opening the door all the way to let her in. She didn’t miss that he quickly locked the door behind her.

He gestured to the couch this time, waiting for her to perch herself on one of the cushions before he sat down himself, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hands.

“Did something happen?” He asked, eyes shining, face illuminated only by the tv.

She shook her head, then stopped. “No. Well, yes, but it was my fault.” She choked out, suddenly feeling put on the spot even though this was her doing. She had craved FP, craved his presence, but felt warm and silly under his attention now.

“I spilled a pot of boiling water on my foot – and, he didn’t even look up from the tv. I don’t know, I think I just snapped, I knew then that I had to get out.”

FP’s gaze was now on her uncovered foot, and he let out a sympathetic hiss. “Did you run it under cold water? Let me see.” He said, holding out his hand. Feeling stupider than she had in her entire life, she lifted her foot and place it in FP’s hand, where he spent a few seconds examining it.

“I ran it under water for a bit.” She told him, and he nodded approvingly.

“Does it hurt? I think I have some burn cream in the bathroom.” He told her, running a soothing hand over her foot. He didn’t wait for her answer, instead placing her foot on the coffee table and getting up, striding through to the bathroom. After a few seconds, he came back with a tube of clear paste.

“This should help.” He murmured as he sank back down, using one finger to gently apply the cream to her red, blistered foot. She bit her lip, heart twisting just a little bit.

She knew she shouldn’t be here. It wasn’t _right,_ to be alone with this man, wanting his attention the way she did. She was battling her own mind, here, wanting something with this man when she didn’t really know him beyond small talk. But she couldn’t seem to care enough when his eyes met hers again, and they were _burning._

She cleared her throat, giving him a watery smile. “Thanks, FP.” She took a deep breath, gathering some self-control, and turned her eyes to the tv. “What were you watching?” She asked, recognising a movie playing on the small screen.

She didn’t look back at him, and it took him a moment to answer when he replied.

“Groundhog Day.” Was all she got, and she hmm’d thoughtfully.

“I’ve never seen it.” She said, refusing to look at him for even a second, in case her resolve broke. She never actually realised how weak willed she could be until today. She spent years building up a façade, a mask, telling everyone she was okay, strong, happy. She didn’t know what it was about this man, but she just felt the need to be _real_ with him. She didn’t know if he’d noticed or not, but she needed to get her shit together, and soon, otherwise she honestly didn’t know what would happen.

“Neither. You gonna watch it with me?” She thought he had meant it to be light-hearted, but her ears pricked and when she turned back to look at him in curiosity, he was still looking at her, face apprehensive. She bit her lip against a smile, and nodded.

“Sure.” She whispered, and forced herself to relax back against the couch. FP was her friend, and she wasn’t going to read too much into anything.

As it turned out, FP was great company. He was quiet at the right times, but always had a smartass comment when she least expected it. She found herself smiling, laughing, for _real_ this time, at his sarcastic humour and quick wit. The movie was good, but she found it to be the last thing on her mind when she was genuinely happy for the first time in a long time. It felt good. Really good.

As the credits rolled over the screen she realised it had been more than an hour since she had interrupted his night, and she looked over at him guiltily.

“Sorry, I must have overstayed my welcome by now.” She moved to get up, remembering her foot too late and wincing when she knocked it against the foot of the table. Her heart beat just a little bit faster when she felt a rough hand on her own, large and warm and sent electricity all the way up her arm.

“You know, you’re a friend, Alice. You’re more than welcome to stay, like I said.”

Now her reaction to this was completely unwarranted and not something she could have predicted. She felt a warm rush low, _low_ in her belly, and her lips parted, letting out a shaky breath. Heat flooded her cheeks and she realised that what he’d suggested sounded _appealing_ to her, made her hot and bothered, even though she rationally _knew_ that’s not what he’d meant by it.

She really needed to get it together.

“B-but you only have the couch?” She managed to stammer out, needlessly pointing to it, feeling like an idiot.

He dropped her hand, reaching up to scratch the back of his head and gestured to the bedroom.

“Actually, I bought a mattress and some sheets with my last pay check. I’d sleep on the couch.”

He stared at her, waiting for her answer. She looked down at her feet, shuffling them in thought, before considering the alternative. She really didn’t want to be around Hal. If she went back to that apartment she didn’t know if she would be brave enough to leave again. It would suffocate her.

She did work tomorrow, though. Her shift at the hospital started at eleven, and she knew Hal would be gone by eight.

She sighed, feeling like the world’s biggest burden. “Okay. But I’ll take the couch.” To which he immediately shook his head.

“I’m an asshole Alice, but not that much. You take the bed.”

She gave up, and saw his little half smile at her expression. “Did you need a shower?” He continued, and she saw his eyes flit down her body for a half second, saw him clench his jaw, and she _wished_ she could read his mind.

She shook her head no, though, and he nodded once, turning to grab a blanket off the couch, folding it before handing it to her.

“You might need this, it can get a touch cold in this apartment. Sorry.”

She shrugged, taking the blanket from him, before he strode over to the bedroom door, opening it with a smirk. She followed his lead, and couldn’t help the smile that spread over her face.

“See you in the morning.” He said, smirk widening into a charming half smile that made her insides flutter, _again,_ but she finally remembered her manners, and stopped in the doorway, looking up at him.

“Thank you. Really.” She said with as much sincerity as she could muster, saw his features soften and he nodded again.

She stepped into the bedroom and felt the door close behind her. She took a deep breath, feeling like a weight was off her shoulders, at least for tonight. She shrugged off her sweater, leaving her leggings on, and climbed into bed, smiling happily when she inhaled. His sheets smelled like him – smoke and soap and something else, and she bit her lip to keep in a moan when she felt a jolt run down to her core.

The last thought she had before she drifted off to sleep was that she really needed some perspective.

 

**\---**

 

FP was an idiot. A stupid, selfish, idiot.

At least he had some self-control – this whole situation proved that. He had spent the whole night burning up next to her, using every ounce of his willpower _not_ to make a move. And when she went to leave, he’d fucking suggested she stay.

The reason? He selfishly didn’t want her to leave, didn’t want her to go back to that _motherfucker_ who gave her that bruise –

He didn’t want himself riled up right now. It was too early for that shit anyway, and he was running on only a few hours’ sleep as it was. He’d spent the whole night tossing and turning on the couch, couldn’t get the thought of her in _his_ bed, not her boyfriend’s –

 _Seriously_ , he told his brain viciously. _Shut the fuck up._

Either way, his body was wired as he sipped on his coffee. He wondered if he should check on her, to see if she was still here. He wondered if that bordered on the line of pervy, and decided that it probably was. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from opening his door, silently, just a fraction, and peeked in.

She was in the middle of his bed, blankets rumpled around her and hair splayed out over his only pillow. She was still absolutely out to it, and he pursed his lips as he considered something.

He’d be leaving for work soon, but he could always leave her a note, telling her to help herself to coffee and the shitty breakfast cereal he had in the cupboard. She’d mentioned she was working today, so he didn’t worry about leaving her a key in case of emergencies, but that was something he would worry about later.

So he shut the door again, quietly as he could, and padded over to the kitchen counter, scrawling out a quick note in his messy handwriting. He shucked on his snow jacket over his overalls, slipped on his boots, and he was out the door to work.

He was still wired, though, and strung out, so when he reached the stairwell he thought _fuck it_ and lit himself the first cigarette of the day. It was a few steps down that he realised something was off, and his hair stood on end. He heard footsteps, and his back stiffened as he inhaled another long drag.

A dirty blond head rounded the corner, eyes flashing dangerously. FP stopped, eyes honing in on the face, bad feeling rumbling in his gut. This guy looked like a grade-A creep, and he _really_ hoped he was wrong about his hunch.

It was the other man who spoke first. “Hello. Have you seen a little blonde woman around?” He asked, tone not at all matching the glint in his eyes. It was light, confident, at ease – and it made FP anything but.

FP had about half a second to make this lie look credible. He blew out the smoke he’d been holding in, and tried his best not to look murderous.

“Hey man, nah, why’s that?” He managed, as casually as possible. He couldn’t help but look down at the smarmy polo shirt this guy wore, light blue like his eyes. FP hated him.

The man’s eyes narrowed, eyeing the cigarette with distaste, and FP fought the urge to blow smoke in his face. “No reason, she must have gone to get milk, or something.”

And without anything further, the guy continued his warpath without so much as a by your leave, leaving FP’s skin crawling. The man, whatever his name was, had just confirmed his hunch and he had a sinking feeling, but would only give Alice away if he turned back now. He continued down the stairs, feeling like lead weights had attached themselves to his feet. He could only hope she’d be alright.

 

**\---**

 

Alice woke up, groggy and disorientated, and her mind lurched for about three seconds before she remembered where she was.

 _I’m in FP’s apartment. I’m in his bed._ A thrill ran through her as she mashed her face into the pillow for a few more minutes before she sat up, yawning stretching. She felt more rested that she had in months. Throwing her legs to the side, she scooted out of bed, wincing as her feet made contact with the cold floor. She shivered, but padded over to the door and stepped out into the living room.

Which was empty. She froze, not knowing what to do, and wondering what time it was if he’d already left for work. She glanced at the microwave – 8:46am, and she let out a breath of relief. From what she knew, Hal would’ve left for work already and she could safely make her way back to her own apartment. Throwing back on her sweatshirt, she threw her hair up in a ponytail, wincing at the knots, and passed the kitchen counter on her way out when a note caught her eye.

_Morning. Didn’t want to wake you, sorry. Help yourself to anything. Hope to see you later._

She felt the biggest smile break out onto her face, because it was such a _sweet_ gesture, and maybe one day she’d stop being startled by how nice this man was. She left the note where it was, but grabbed the pen he’d left beside it and tapped it to her chin. She didn’t really know what to write back, so she settled for simple.

 _Thank you so much. I hope to see you later, too._ And then, hesitating, she scrawled her number at the bottom.

She left after that, walked the short distance to her own front door, and tentatively opened it, not spotting any signs of life. She made quick work of getting ready for her shift, dragging a brush through her curls and having the quickest shower of her life, before putting on her makeup and uniform. It would only take her half an hour to get to work if she took the train, and it was only just gone past nine, but she desperately wanted out of here.

A thought occurred to her then. Before she could overthink it, she grabbed a duffel bag and filled as many clothes as she could into it, then went to the bathroom and grabbed all her necessities. There was nothing else in the apartment that was really _hers,_ so she left it at the basics, and grabbed her keys again on the way out, making sure she had her wallet and phone. She never wanted to come back here – wasn’t brave enough to come back here again.

She left without a backwards glance.

 

**\----**

 

It wasn’t until later that she realised she didn’t exactly have a place to go tonight. She considered going back to FP’s, but honestly, she felt she had already put him out enough. Any more and it would border on ridiculous.

She went through a mental checklist of people in her head. She could always stay with one of her work colleagues until she figured out what she could do – find an apartment of sorts. She was particularly close to a woman called Hermione, and thought _surely_ it couldn’t hurt to ask.

She was, however, a bit nervous to explain her situation to the woman. She didn’t think she had the stomach for it, if she was being honest with herself.

Still. She was desperate enough to ask, and so on her break she approached the stunning Latino, wringing her hands in front of her when her stomach lurched with anxiety.

“Hey, Hermione, how’s it going?” She tried going for casual and missed it by about a mile. Hermione turned, gave her a once over and smiled, but there was concern in her eyes.

“Hey, Al, what’s going on?” She pulled a seat out, gesturing for Alice to sit beside her.

The blonde took a deep breath, choosing to go deep end first. The worst thing she could say is no.

“I was actually uh, wondering if you had a spare bed tonight.” Alice, for the life of her, couldn’t seem to make eye contact, and her pulse quickened as she spoke.

There was a beat of silence from Hermione. “Of course, whatever you need. But I’ll ask again, what’s going on?” Her voice was tinged with worry now, and Alice looked up to find the woman frowning.

“You know Hal?” Alice started, proud that she didn’t stutter when she said his name. Hermione nodded.

“He uh. He hits me, sometimes and I uh. Left him.” She cleared her throat, willing the tears not to spring into her eyes, and she bit her lip to distract herself.

She heard Hermione’s quiet intake of breath, followed by a sigh of understanding. “The bruise on your face.” She said, not sounding surprised at all. Alice nodded.

She felt Hermione’s hand cover her own, and she looked up. Hermione was giving her a gentle smile, eyes proud.

“I’m glad you came to me, Alice. You can stay as long as you need.”

 _At least that was one issue sorted,_ Alice thought.

 

\--- 

 

After her shift ended at six, she checked her phone for the first time all day, and saw four missed calls from Hal, which made her stomach lurch. She fumbled to delete them all, before attempting to block his number, hoping that would send the message home to him.

She doubted it, though.

She followed Hermione to her car, making idle chatter along the way, when her phone rang in her hand. Hermione glanced her way with a meaningful look. When Alice looked down, she didn’t recognise the number, and her thumb hesitated over the green answer button.

_What if it was Hal, using a burner phone? What if he’s calling from a booth?_

She waited too long, because it inevitably rang out. She continued to follow Hermione, who had been silent for a while. God, that woman was patient – she felt a rush of affection for the woman.

Her phone buzzed again in her hand, and she thumbed open the text message icon as she walked.

_Hey, Alice? It’s just FP. Is everything alright?_

The relief that flooded her was instantaneous. She tapped out a reply, hitting send before she rounded the side door of Hermione’s Honda.

_Oh, hey. I’m okay, I’m a little scared to answer the phone._

She closed her phone and met Hermione’s curious gaze. “My neighbour, he’s checking if I’m alright.”

Hermione made a noise of understanding, giving her a smile before sliding into the driver’s seat. Alice wasn’t far behind, duffel bag in hand.

 

**\---**

 

When FP saw the text that Alice had responded with, he felt a bit sick. He’d been in a bad mood all day, not able to fully concentrate, mind kept drifting back to the man in the stairwell.

God, he hoped Alice was okay.

So when he saw the note when he got home, in response to his own, it had eased a tension in his chest and made it a bit easier to breath. He decided it wouldn’t really hurt to give her a call, just in case, but he became tense again when she didn’t answer.

Now, knowing that she was alone and scared to answer the phone, it just made him fucking mad.

He flicked out a reply.

_Where are you staying tonight?_

Her reply was almost instantaneous, like she had been waiting for him.

_I’m staying with a friend from work, she’s taking me in._

So she wasn’t alone. He felt a twinge of disappointment in his chest, and he frowned at the message. He wanted her here, _safe,_ so he could –

He had to beat down his _Alpha_ _Male_ internal monologue he was building up to, and tried to rationalise that it was probably for the best, her being as far away from her ex as possible. So he sent her a message back, still hopeful, because he really did need to talk to her after this morning.

_Call me when you’re free, okay?_

He didn’t have to wait long for a reply to that one, either.

_I will._

He left his phone on loud, and went to have a shower to wash of the stink of petrol and grease – and, hopefully, some of his frustrations throughout the day. Showers always had a way of relaxing him, coaxing him out of a feral mood and into one resembling something vaguely human.  

He let the water cascade over his head, avoiding the thoughts of Alice that had been plaguing him all day. He didn’t know why he cared so much, he didn’t know why _she_ was affecting him so much. It was almost fucking magnetic, which sounded way too poetic for FP. He was a dick, he’d been to _prison_ for fucks sake. He was fucked up beyond repair, and he knew deep down Alice would never want him.

Which just made him more miserable.

But it didn’t mean he couldn’t look out for the woman. She was going through what was probably the worst time of her life and he wouldn’t take advantage of the fact. So he’d just help…from a _distance_.

 He sighed when the water eventually started to run cold, and quickly switched off the taps.

It wasn’t until later, when his head hit the pillow, that his phone rang, and his attempts at relaxation went out the window. It was only eight at night, but he felt more exhausted when he should be, so when he answered the phone, his voice was rougher than he intended.

“Hello?”

He heard her sigh on the other end of the line, soft and quiet. “Hey, FP.”

He smiled despite himself.

“How are you, really?” He asked, a part of him still wishing she was there with him.

She huffed a laugh. “As well as I can be. Hermione has been great.”

Frowning, he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m glad you’re staying there. Not that I wasn’t happy to have you here – but – I just.” He cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Thankfully, she put him out of his misery. “I know.” He couldn’t tell if she was smiling or not and it was driving him insane. “I just didn’t want to put you out any more than I already have. Plus, you know, you live a few doors up from…Hal.” She hissed the name out, making him oddly impressed.

“Yeah listen, I needed to talk to you about that.” That was met with silence, and he continued so she didn’t automatically assume the worst. It hurt what he was about to say next, but he had to get it out.

“I think you need to stay away from here for a while. I met your Hal this morning, and – well, I don’t want you anywhere near here.”

More silence, but then he heard her steady exhale and he knew she understood. His gut churned with something, some feeling that he couldn’t identify. She spoke then, distracting him from himself.

“I know. I know that makes sense, but. You’re my friend, right? I still want to see you.”

Now _that_ should not have made FP as stupidly happy as it did. He clenched the hand that wasn’t holding the phone, tamping down the feelings because he knew it was inappropriate and _wrong_ and she should be taking advantage of this girl.

But this is how he _knew_ he was a selfish dick – he knew what he shouldn’t do, and he always did it anyway, even as a kid. The trait was just in him, stuck to him, and he couldn’t shake it off.

So, with self-hatred blooming in his chest, he made a pleased sound through the receiver. “Yeah, I wanna see you too. We’ll figure it out, okay?” He heard her soft, tired _yeah_ of agreement, and switched the phone to his other ear, a wave of fatigue hitting him like a brick.

“You tired?” He asked her.

“You have no idea,” she joked, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

“Night then, Alice. Sleep well,” he quipped, grinning.

“Night, FP.” She replied, sounding half asleep already.

He hung up, not even sure his head fully hit the pillow before he was asleep.

 

\--- 

 

A few days had gone by before Alice realised she’d left her mother’s bracelet in the first drawer of her bedside table at Hal’s apartment, and her first thought was that it was gone forever.

But the more she thought about it, the more angry she became. Irrationally so, even – she should have been angry to begin with. She was _pissed._ That bastard had fucked up her head. She wanted nothing more than to clout him in his stupid, smug face. So when she made the decision to go over there after work to grab it, she wasn’t exactly in her most rational state of mind.

Perhaps she should have waited, for FP, for Hermione, for anyone, really. _Brave or stupid?_ She thought to herself as she stepped off the train after her shift at work, flitting between people in her haste. It was a walk that would take her a few minutes, but her legs were stiff from both the icy wind and nerves. About five minutes later, she rounded the corner to her building, not sure if she was relieved or terrified.

Walking up the stairs, she knew Hal would be at work still, since it was only four thirty. Nevertheless, she hesitated, thinking that maybe she should have let Hermione know she where she was. Swallowing down her pride, she decided to send the woman a text, and opened up her phone.

_Hey, H. Just picking up something at Hal’s place, be home soon. X_

She hit send, then another thought occurred to her.

 _Hey, FP. I’m just picking up something important from Hals. Texting you – just in case._ She hesitated before pressing send, knowing that as silly as she felt, she knew it was the safest thing to do in this situation. She waited in the stairwell until her phone buzzed, and she looked down to see FP had replied.

_Be very careful. My spare key is above the doorframe, if needed._

She pocketed her phone after that, confident at least one person knew where she was. It didn’t take her long before she had finished her trek, facing the front door and feeling suddenly very alone. But she took out her keys, twisting the lock and tip toed her way inside.

It was quiet, eerie except for the steady tick of the clock on the living room wall. Everything was exactly as she remembered it, neat and spotless, exactly the way Hal wanted it. It was _vastly_ different from FP’s apartment, and it felt cold, unfeeling, lonely in comparison.

She stepped silently towards the bedroom, hair standing on end. She just had to be in and out, it would take less than 30 seconds. She could do this.

She passed the bedroom door, beelining for the bedside table, when she heard the bedroom door close behind her.

Her heart rate skyrocketed as adrenaline shot through her.

 “Alice. Where have you been?”

She went stiff as a board.

And it was so unlike Hal, he sounded so _calm,_ so rational that she almost believed that he wasn’t angry. She turned around to face him, fear making her mind hazy.

She found that she couldn’t answer, words stuck in her throat – and really, what could she tell him that he wouldn’t already know?

That she was leaving him? That she couldn’t take it anymore? That his fists had finally caused her too much pain?

Her hand clenched around the phone in her pocket, willing FP to realise that she was here, and she was trapped. _God, she was stupid._

Hal looked the same as he always had. Dressed impeccably, face clean shaven where FP’s wasn’t. His eyes were different, though. Held something dangerous, something nasty  that she knew didn’t bode well for her.

“Let’s have a little talk, shall we?” Hal took a step forward, face eerily calm.

She took a step back.

“No. I’m just here for –“ He cut her off.

“You think you can leave me, Alice? Think you can make it on your own? You’re mine. Your life is here. You aren’t leaving me again.” With every word her panic rose, and she took another step back before her back hit the wall, and she saw him grin.

He strode over to her, purposefully, unrushed, and grabbed her hair, throwing her sideways and catching her off-guard at how violent the action was. She grunted when her knees hit the floor, more from shock than from pain. He didn’t let go of her hair, though, and when she tried to pull away, body shrunken in fear, he yanked it back to him savagely. She yelped, hands flying up to try and break his grip.

Instead, she felt him bat her hands away before something solid connected with the side of her mouth – _his fist,_ she realised. _He’d always used an open palm before now._ Pain lanced through her jaw and tongue.

She reeled back in horror, understanding that his usual rules didn’t apply right now. She went to scream, but his hand came around her throat and shook her, snapping her head back one, twice, before he dragged her to her feet again.

“Don’t scream, darling, this is for your own good. Please try to take it with a little dignity.”

She wanted to vomit at his words. He’d never, ever used language like this and it frightened the wits out of her. She tasted blood in her mouth, then, thinking she must have bitten her tongue after the blow.

He dragged her over to the bed, throwing her down and giving her another blow to the head when she immediately tried to run. The hit was hard enough that it made her head spin and her ears ring, disorientated.

He grabbed her hands, bringing them together in a knot, she realised, understood dimly that the bastard was _tying her up_ and she starting squirming again. She heard him sigh in annoyance, hand going to her hair again to tilt her head up.

“Alice, stop fighting it, okay? Now you’re going to wait here, patiently, because I haven’t even started with you yet. I need to clean up first – I’ve been waiting for you to come home, you know. Didn’t even shower in case I missed you.”

Her skin was crawling, and she spat in his face on a reflex, not caring anymore that it would make him angry. If she was going down, she’d go down _pissing him off._

He flinched, before wiping his face. “Okay. You’ll pay for that, too. It’s just all about respect, Alice.”

He stood, giving her hair one last vicious tug, before he strode out the door, heading for the bathroom. About thirty seconds later she heard the shower start to run, and made to get up and just fucking _leave,_ all she could think about was getting to FP’s safely.

But her hands were tied to the bedpost, with _rope._ She had to think quickly, had to fight down the panic.

_How the fuck was she going to get out of here?_

A few moments went by as she gathered her thoughts. Her breathing laboured, her eyes landed on Hal’s bedside table. She knew he kept an antique swiss army knife in there, top drawer, as a reminder of his father’s service. She huffed, calculating the distance quickly, before stretching out and using her foot to open it slightly, wincing when it made a small noise. After a few seconds of feeling around, she managed to grip the knife between her big toe and middle toe and she slowly brought it back towards her, careful not to drop her lifeline.

Grabbing it in her left hand, she seesawed the knife back and forth over the rope, using all her strength. Only 30 seconds in and her hand started to cramp, but she kept going, biting her lip at the pain. The rope broke, and she almost cried out with joy when her hands were released, bringing instant relief.

A few minutes had gone by now, and she stood up hurriedly on wobbly legs. Using as much stealth as she could muster in her situation, she crept out the door, holding her breath the whole way. Hal had kept the bathroom door open, but had the shower curtain pulled, so she could sneak past unseen, heart in her throat.

_God, she’d need fucking therapy after this._

Head still spinning from his blows, she barely managed to get to the front door without gasping for air, and allowed herself a tiny breath in to keep from passing out. Her gut was doing wild somersaults, threatening to empty their contents any second. The only thing keeping her going was the fear and adrenaline of getting caught.

She was silent as she slipped out the front door, not bothering to close it.

She all but _ran_ the 20 metres to FP’s door, feeling above the frame and fumbling until her shaking hands found the lone key. She brought it down, and she struggled for a few seconds before the lock turned, she was _in,_ finally, and she could finally breath when she closed the door behind her, making sure the deadbolt was locked.

Then, for a brief moment, she allowed herself to break down. Tears flooded her eyes and she let out a silent sob, hands coming up to her aching jaw and when she pulled them away, her fingers were tinged with blood.

 _Holy shit._ She took a few deep, steadying breaths, and backed up from the locked door, glancing around her for any idea on what the fuck to do next.

She gradually became more aware of herself, the adrenaline waning now that she was somewhat safe, but the fear was still etched into her, making her stomach writhe. She looked down at her phone, pulling it out of her jacket pocket, and tapped on FP’s name with shaky fingers.

_I’m in your apartment. Hal was home._

Short and simple was just about all she could manage right now. It was a few minutes before she got a reply, but it felt like mere seconds, the way her brain was whirring a mile a minute.

_Are you hurt? Stay right there. I’ll be home in five._

She let out a wobbly breath, one hand wiping away a few stray tears.

_He doesn’t know I’m here._

She didn’t get a reply to that, and she pocketed her phone again, before she tried to take a step toward the couch and felt her legs give out from under her. She slid down, and backed up against the kitchen counter, resting her head against the wooden surface. She tried to close her eyes, to breath, deeply, in and out, in, out, but felt only the hot tears that refused to stop falling, and her shaking hands that wouldn’t keep still.

After a few minutes, it could have been five, or ten, she heard the lock unclick and she tensed, eyes flying open and heart rate picking up again as fear warped her mind.

But she knew when the door opened it was FP, and he didn’t see her at first because he’d whirled around to lock the door behind him straight away. After that she saw him turn, eyes wide and pupils blown, locking onto her and looking her up and down frantically.

She saw him drop to the ground, squatting in front of her, before reaching out and gently lifting her jaw so he could see better. She let him, loving the feeling of his fingers on her skin. He hadn’t said anything yet, which should have made her uneasy but she was so goddamn relieved to see him she didn’t care. He looked wound up, hair wild, eyes wild, and he’d never looked more beautiful than he did now. She just stared into his eyes, dark, warm, comforting, letting herself be soothed by his smell, by his touch. She felt her breathing even out, felt she could switch off now that he was here. He was here, and she was safe.

He didn’t make a sound, even as he stood, striding to the freezer, where he opened it, grabbing something blue. _Ice pack,_ she thought, and he was back in front of her again, wrapping it up in a tea towel and placing it in her hands. She took it, gingerly holding it against the side of her cheek, making a small sound of pain when she pressed too hard.

His voice startled her, and she jumped a little, feeling ridiculous.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” He ground out, jaw clenching and unclenching, and she stared at the muscle, fascinated.

“No,” she whispered. She thought of her aching scalp, but there was nothing she could do for that anyway.

He was quiet for a moment, before he sat back on his haunches and leaned against the opposite counter, sitting with her on the kitchen floor. They must have looked absurd.

His eyes were still burning a hole into her face though, like he couldn’t really look away. They sat like that for a while, both listening to each other’s breaths, and she slowly felt the calm simmer over her, and with it, the realization of what she had just gotten out of.

She dropped the icepack, face numb, before the tears started again, hot and uncontrollable. She sobbed, even harder when he cursed softly, and felt him scoot around to her left, gathering her shoulders and pulling her into him, head under his chin. She listened to his heart sounds as she cried, trying to get enough air into her lungs to explain it to him. He just shushed her, forcing her to just cry it out.

It didn’t take long.

Her tears softened into little hiccups, then into soft little intakes of breath. She felt a little better, more clear-headed once the flow of her tears stopped, and she took a long, deep breath to steady herself. Once she pulled back, she realised she’d wet the front of his overalls, and winced.

“Sorry.” She told him throat hoarse. He sighed in response, shaking his head.

“Wanna tell me what happened?” He said softly into her ear. She sighed in resignation, before nodding.

“I will. I hate to be rude, though, but – can I have a shower first?” She felt raw and ugly after her breakdown, and just needed to clean up a bit. Her cheeks went red with embarrassment.

She saw him nod, gesturing for her to scoot away so he could stand to help her up. He grabbed her a towel from the hallway cupboard, and turned around, question obviously on his lips.

“Did you want clothes? You’ve kinda got blood…” He gestured to the front of her work shirt, and when she looked down, she saw spattering’s of blood on her collar. It must have been from her bleeding tongue, she thought.

Looking back up at him she nodded sheepishly, and his jaw clenched again before he disappeared into his bedroom, coming back out with a plain white t-shirt and a set of pyjama shorts.

“Sorry,” he was saying apologetically, “I don’t think anything else will fit.”

She took them out of his outstretched hands. “I appreciate it. I won’t be long.” She told him, before padding through the bathroom door and closing it behind her.

She certainly felt better – before she looked in the mirror. Jeez, she looked awful. Eyes puffy, hair messy, and the corner of her jaw was swollen, bruise butterflied across her cheek. She sighed while she hastily turned on the hot water, stepping into the stream, letting the water run over her head and face.

She was forced to use his shampoo and soap, which smelled vaguely of cinnamon, and she breathed in slowly. At least now she’d smell like FP.

God, she was nuts.

When she towelled off, her legs and arms started to feel weak – she was used to this feeling. She always felt this way when the adrenaline wore off. She pulled the shirt over her head, forgoing her bra – she was probably going to sleep here anyway.

It was too big for her, of course, but wasn’t too bad. The hem ended just over her butt, and when she pulled the shorts on, she thought she looked like a man. She laughed at herself as she squeezed the water out of her hair, running a hand through it to try and smooth out the knots.

Leaving her clothes folded in the corner, she opened the door to see FP on the couch, phone in hand as he twirled it around in his fingers. He looked anxious, which set her nerves off again. She hoped he wasn’t anxious to see her go. Her stomach dropped a bit.

“Did you want me to go?” She blurted, face heating up at how pathetic she was being.

He whirled around, frowning, mouth open to answer before he caught sight of her, eyes raking over her and she saw him swallow.

 _She must have looked bad_.

“No, I think it’s best if you stay here tonight, don’t you?” He grunted, running a hand through his hair. It hadn’t taken her long to recognise this as a nervous tic, and she swallowed down more guilt at the fact.

“Okay.” She said simply, plopping onto the couch beside him.

He cleared his throat, before speaking softly to her again. “So what happened, Alice?”

She wasn’t sure whether he wanted to hear, but she began, fighting to keep her voice even.

“I thought the place was empty. I was there to pick up my mothers bracelet. I’d accidentally left it behind.” She took a breath in. “When I got to the bedroom, he was there. Said I was wrong for leaving him, that I was his. He grabbed my hair, threw me to the ground. I struggled, and that’s when…” she lifted a hand to her cheek. “I tried to scream and he shook me by the throat.” Another breath.

“Then he dragged me up, threw me onto the bed.” She felt FP tense beside her, and heard his sharp intake of breath. She knew what it sounded like, and nodded. “I have no doubt that’s where it would have led. He hit me again, tied me to the bed. Then he left – said…” She frowned, trying to remember. “Said he’d been waiting for me, hadn’t even showered – so I guess that was first on his to do list. When I heard the shower start up, I used my foot to grab the swiss army knife out of his drawer, cut the ropes. Ran out of there.” She finished, flopping back onto the couch, daring to glance at FP’s face for a moment.

He looked tense. Jaw locked, eyes dark, and she wanted to comfort him, tell him it was okay, she was safe – but of course he knew that already. God, she’d give anything to read his mind right now. When he did speak, it was a few minutes later.

“I think we need to go to the police.” He said darkly, and she didn’t miss the way his hand twitched by his side. She frowned.

“Not tonight,” she told him, eyes worried. He saw it, and it didn’t take long for her to see he’d relented. His shoulders sunk in resignation.

“Not tonight.” He agreed reluctantly.

 

\---

 

It was several hours later – the dimly lit microwave read 7:04 – when FP had started to relax a bit, started to smile again. They had started talking, about anything and everything. She worked and worked to get FP to unwind – she internally cheered when his eyes lit up at one of her stories (she had a few, working in the emergency department), and she described in great detail just _how_ the patient said the bottle had gotten stuck up his own rectum.

She actually got a full out _laugh_ from him when she finished that one. She beamed momentarily, before laughing at herself. She was being ridiculous, but felt high on this man’s presence. She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from him.

FP shook his head in disbelief, before moving out of his slouched position to stand up, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

She looked at him curiously, before he pointed to the kitchen. “You hungry?” He asked.

Her stomach _was_ feeling rather empty, she just didn’t know if she could eat right now. But she nodded anyway, standing up with him, striding over to the kitchen bench. He opened the fridge, pulling out a deli pizza from the corner store downstairs.

“I don’t have much. Sorry.” He sounded embarrassed, but she shrugged it off. She honestly just appreciated the food. Now that they’d moved off the couch, she realised how cold it had become and felt goose-bumps stretch over her skin, and she shivered. When she looked down she was mortified to remember she wasn’t wearing a bra, and her nipples were made quite obvious by the freezing temperatures. _Fucking hell I’m an idiot,_ she cursed.

Quickly folding her arms in front of her, she leaned back against the kitchen counter as casually as possible while FP opened the oven, placing the pizza inside. She felt blood creep into her cheeks, not really able to control the embarrassment.

_How do I ask for a sweater without it sounding weird?_

Her arms weren’t quite doing the job of hiding her situation, so when FP turned around she spoke straightaway, trying to keep his eyes away.

“Sorry about this but…is there any chance I could grab a sweater off you?” Her voice was meant to be matter of fact, but it came out as a squeak when he glanced down at her chest, and saw his face go red.

He turned quickly, eyes dropping in shame, and he nodded jerkily, walking stiffly to his bedroom.

See, that whole encounter should have been incredibly awkward for Alice. But it dawned on her as she watched his retreating form, that this tension she was feeling might not be one sided. Alice was sharp-eyed, quick to reach conclusions, and _always_ trusted her hunches…and if her current hunch was right, she wouldn’t need the damn sweater tonight. _Please, please be right._

So when FP came back, black hoodie in hand, she reached up with one hand – _god, he was tall –_ and gripped the back of his neck, pulling him down. She thought that it was only the shock factor that allowed her to do so, because his eyes went very wide.

Slowly, so that he had the chance to pull away, she reached up and pressed her lips to his in a chaste kiss, the contact making her gasp embarrassingly against his mouth. She felt him grunt, before his lips started to move with hers, beard tickling her chin.

It happened all at once, then.

His lips, _so soft,_ she thought, started moving faster, insistent against her mouth. He dropped the sweater, hands coming up to the back of her neck, gently, _ever so gently,_ to tilt her head back even more. She gasped again, feeling _hot,_ the cold sapped from her completely. Her skin was on fire, and when she breathed in his heady scent – smoke and diesel – it only made her more breathless, made her go pliant against him.

Heat pooled in her core, and she keened, shocked by the jolts of arousal that shot down her spine, making her legs shake, making the wetness between her legs grow until she couldn’t think of anything else.

FP was tense, so tense, making little grunts when she pulled at the hair on his neck, but didn’t pull away. His hands slid down from her neck, down her back, down past her ass and she yelped as he grabbed her thighs, lifting her up and placing her on the kitchen counter. She let out a shuddering moan when she felt him press against her, chest to chest and hip to hip, and he was on her again, lips panting and desperate as she tried to keep up.

She was too hot, now. She needed things _off,_ but when she pulled away, FP pulled back in kind, eyes worried.

“Are you – “

She grabbed the hem of her shirt and threw it over her head, not really caring where it landed. His eyes darkened with hunger, glinting in the dim light, and his whole face became what she could only describe as _possessive._

She needed contact again.

“FP, please…” She reached for him, feeling to exposed without him on her, and he fell into her grasp with a low growl, lips slanting against her own, wet and _hot._ He pulled back then, lips moving inch by inch down her chin, down her neck, where he nipped the crevice of her collarbone. She gasped again, hands carding through his hair as she tried to wiggle impossibly closer to him. Her core must’ve been _dripping_ by now, and she was only wearing his shorts…

He picked her up, holding her to him with ease, and his hands moulded to the underside of her thighs – she couldn’t help it, she ground herself against him, whimpering at the feeling.

He grunted again, and she felt the tension in his neck. She pulled away, only to press a hot kiss to his shoulder, willing him to relax against her, feeling his quick pulse under her lips.

She felt herself being carried – to the bedroom, she realized with a trill of excitement. She tilted her head up again, silently asking for another kiss, and when her eyes adjusted she saw his face, _hungry_ , pupils blown wide. They’d stopped then, and she felt the flex in his shoulders when he slowly let her down onto the bed, and she rolled back, stretching her arms above her head. She stared at him through hooded eyes, loving the way he gazed over her, loved him _looking_ at her.

His breathing was uneven, ragged, and he growled when she pushed her chest out, arching her back and whining.

“FP, _please,_ Jesus…”

He took a moment to tear off his own shirt, eyes becoming wild and fierce again, before he crawled on top of her, resting himself on his forearms, not a single part of him touching her.

His eyes were black, pools of ink that drew her in. His jaw was clenched again, she realised hazily, as she huffed at him impatiently.  

“What do you want, Alice?” He murmured, lips hovering over hers but not touching, and he pulled back when she tried to kiss him.

She sighed headily, legs parting of their own accord. She leaned up, then, towards his ear.

“I want you inside me.” She whispered, felt his shudder, and fell back against the bed when his hands went to her hair again, tugging gently, and she parted her lips for him when he kissed her. He groaned when he let himself slide against her naked chest, and she rolled her hips in response. God, why was he still wearing his sweatpants, he needed to take them off, like _now –_

All thoughts flew out the window when she felt his hand trail down her side, over her hip, and dip between her legs, a feather light touch that made her throw her head back and cry out when his finger grazed her clit through the pants. He smirked against her mouth, before pressing down more insistently with his fingers, and she writhed and moaned, needed _more_ than what he was giving her.

She tried bringing her hands down to the hem, dragging them down but he grabbed her wrist, pinning her to the mattress.

“Patience,” he growled in her ear. “I’m taking my time, okay?”

And fuck if that wasn’t the hottest thing ever. It didn’t, however, help her frustrations because she was _so wet_ already and why couldn’t he just feel that…

His fingers dragged the hem of her – _his –_ shorts down, and his hand was on her bare skin, then, immediately finding her clit again. Jolts of electricity made her twitch and keen against his mouth, his neck, his chest, and she was so hazy with arousal that when he dragged his fingers downwards to her folds, he groaned long and deep.

“Fuck, you’re so wet already, baby.” When he slid one finger in she spread her legs even wider, and he gasped in appreciation. “Good girl,” he whispered, adding another finger and moving them _too slowly_ to give her any kind of relief. She writhed again, managing to wiggle her way out of his shorts and reach between them to grab the hem of his own pants, dragging them down as much as she could.

He chuckled, eyes filled with mirth, when she looked up at him.

 _“Please.”_ She pleaded with him, and he took in her puffy mouth and groaned, catching her lips in another desperate kiss. He seemed to understand, _finally_ , moved his hips to grind against her centre, and for the first time she felt his full length against her, large and heavy. She reached around him and dragged her nails down his back, causing his hips to stutter in their motions. She smirked, delighted she could affect him this way.

He lifted himself up and off her, rolling away to the nightstand, and reaching into the drawer for something – her core pulsed again when she realised what it was. Condom in hand, he rolled back over to her, hovering over her, smirk in place on his handsome face.

She reached down, felt his boxers underneath his sweatpants, and tugged them down. He huffed out a laugh, bringing one large hand down and pulling them down over his member, desperately hard and leaking already. He was fucking –

He must have heard her whimper, because he tilted her chin up so he could see her face.

“You okay, baby?” He asked gently, softly, and her heart melted.

“Yes, _yes,_ ” she implored, “but at the risk of sounding cliché…that’s going to hurt, I’m only small.” She squeaked, looking down again in amazement.  

He looked like he was fighting a smile, tyring to look serious for her. “I promise, if it hurts, I’ll stop.” He pressed a possessive kiss to the side of her mouth, where the corner of her bruise was. Warmth bloomed in her chest, but she growled at his words.

“If you stop I promise I will _kill you.”_

His shocked laugh rocked them both, and when he kissed her this time, the fire burned low in her belly, core sensitive. She felt herself dripping, _aching_ , and tugged at his hair as he rolled the condom down his length.

He lined himself up, panting already at the feel of just how _wet_ she was, and nipped at her neck as he slowly slid inside her, filling her up completely and making her gasp and moan uncontrollably. He grunted when he was fully seated, shoulders tense, and she slid her hands from his hair to his shoulders, gripping and barely holding on when he pulled out and thrust in again.

She relished in that feeling, just feeling every inch of him against her, inside her. The heat was quickly spreading over her skin, expanding like wildfire and she must have looked absolutely wrecked, mouth open, panting and whimpering with every thrust.

“ _God,_ the sounds you make.” She heard him murmur into her skin, and she wrapped her legs higher up, spreading them even wider and his hand twitched in her hair. “Good girl, baby, you feel so _good_.”

She was nearly there, on the edge, and she let out a final keen before she was moaning, gasping into his mouth as he swallowed her sounds. Pleasure shook her legs, her hands, everything, made her close her eyes against it, but there was nothing she could do but ride it out, feel him drag every inch of it out of her.

She came down from her high, buzzing and sated, and he thrust once, twice, three more times before his hips stuttered and he came with a muted groan, catching her mouth in a slow kiss, hips eventually stilling.

She peppered his face with kisses, still delirious from her orgasm, and he caught her lips and gave them a playful nip, sighing into her mouth. He slid out then, and she let out a tiny gasp – she was overstimulated as hell.

He threw away the condom before rolling over to her, planting himself to her side and nuzzling his face into her neck, scruff tickling her shoulder. She sighed, turning to wrap her arms around his head, suddenly sleepy, but she felt his eyes on her.

She would _never_ get used to the strange colour of his eyes, she thought.

“You alright?” He asked quietly, dragging a hand up to cradle her hurt cheek. She nodded.

“I think you more than made up for it.” She whispered against his forehead.

They laid there for a while, just enjoying the feel of each other, when a weird burning smell began wafting through the bedroom, and she stiffened at the same time he did.

“We forgot the pizza.” She giggled, and he rolled his eyes but smiled, not making a move to get up, so she pushed his hands away and scooted off the bed herself, walking towards the door.

He groaned, and she turned to grin back at him. His eyes were on her ass, darkening by the second. She wiggled it teasingly, watched him smirk, before she padded out to the kitchen to save the pizza.

It was already burnt to a crisp.

 

\--- 

 

FP pinched himself, then pinched himself harder.

Fuck, that was the best sex of his life. So much for fucking self-control. She’d gone to turn off the oven to save the pizza, and when she came back his dick almost started to get hard again.

She was so _beautiful_. Way out of his league. He was going to stop at kissing, keep it slow, steady, because she wasn’t his and she deserved better than fast and desperate sex.

But then she’d taken off her shirt, and he saw her fucking perfect breasts and then she’d made those sounds, and he’d just –

He’d lost the battle before it’d even begun. The only problem now, though, is that he didn’t want to stop. Now that he’d had her, he knew he’d want her all the time. It was his nature – high risk of addiction, and she was the most intoxicating thing he’d tasted in a long time.

He looked down now, at her restful face, and fought the urge to kiss her again. She’d just fallen asleep, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He was so warm, not used to having another body pressed against his own, and he thought, distantly, that he could very quickly get used to it.

The only problem was _Hal_. God, he had never wanted to kill someone more. He’d seen the bruise on her face, the blood on her shirt, and he had to spend a couple of minutes fighting down the urge to scream and curse – and then she’d cried, each tear slowly making his stomach drop and his heart clench. He was forever grateful she was brave enough to get out of there at all.

He doubted he would get any sleep tonight.

 

\---

 

They woke up the next day, and FP was more exhausted than he had been the night before. He was desperate for a cigarette, so when she woke up he kissed her nose and told her he’d be back in five. She wrinkled her face sweetly, but gave him a long, lingering kiss before he left that warmed him down to his toes.

His last drag saw him walking back down the hallway to his front door, cravings sated. Hal’s apartment door was closed, and no noises emanated from the inside. His hatred burned low in his gut as he forced himself to look away.

Back in his own apartment, he was greeted with the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen – Alice had donned his t-shirt again, padding around the kitchen with a coffee in hand, and wearing _no fucking panties._

FP couldn’t have that.

He stalked up behind her, nipping her ear and she squealed with surprise.

“Put the mug down.” He warned her, voice rumbling in his chest. She obeyed in instantly, head lolling back against his chest as his hands went around her waist, pulling her tight against him. He started attacking her neck, laving at the pulse point, wanting to draw those sweet little moans out of her. She didn’t disappoint.

He twirled her around, hands splayed on her ass before he lifted her up onto the counter and dropping to his knees in front of her. Her slight gasp of surprise was enough to draw a little smile out of him, and he looked up at her with hunger.

“FP, no, wait, you don’t have to do this…” She keened when he started planting little kisses to her inner thighs, and he grabbed both her knees and spread her legs as wide as they would go, blowing a breath against her pink centre, teasing her. His breath was unsteady, cock straining against his sweatpants.

“You don’t want this?” He asked with mirth, grinning as she opened her eyes again, face flushing adorably. Both her hands carded through his hair and tugged, and her mouth dropped open in anticipation.

“ _Please_ ,” She begged, whimpering now.

His mouth descended on her, sucking at her clit, tonguing her entrance with a hunger that he hadn’t felt in a long time. His dick became more and more desperate the higher her moans became, and soon he was grunting, hips rolling of there own accord and he felt his face flush with arousal. She tasted so _good –_

Her grip in his hair tightened, almost painfully, and she let out one last gasp before her body spasmed, and his hands held onto her thighs, pinning them down as they started to quake. Quick as a flash, he freed himself from his pants and stood, cock lining up with her dripping centre and he thrust himself in, watching her go over the edge, looking _wrecked._

He revelled in the little spasms her pussy was making around him, and he only had to thrust a few more times before he felt pleasure blind him and growled possessively in her ear as he emptied himself inside her.

They panted into each other’s mouths for a minute, before he moved his hips experimentally and she gasped, oversensitive, and he grinned in response, before panic made his throat close over.

“Oh my god, I didn’t wear a condom, I didn’t think, I’m so so-“ He started before a hand went over his mouth.

“Shush, it’s okay, I’m on the pill, FP.” The adrenaline left him almost as quickly as it came, and he slumped against her, trying to steady his breathing.

“God, you’re so beautiful.” He whispered, kissing her forehead. He wanted to stay here forever, make love to her all day, but he couldn’t forget the reason why she was here. So he slid out, smothering her gasp with a kiss, and pulled her off the counter.

He thought they both needed a shower after that, and she gladly followed him, pressing against him as much as he would allow her, and for the first time since he’d been released, FP felt like we was worth something, and a little sphere of hope formed in his chest.

Maybe this sort of happiness was worth a shot.

 

\--- 

 

Later, down at the police station, the constable took her statement, nodding in all the right places and throwing horrified looks her way, which only made her lean into FP even more.

Alice had told the story before, but it still made her pulse quicken and her head spin with just how close she’d gotten to something much, much worse than a bruised jaw. She swallowed, drowning in the waves of emotions, and so, _so_ grateful that she’d found FP. This connection of theirs was something unreal, so intense and if she believed in something as stupid as soulmates, this would be the closest damn thing.

Afterwards, they’d gone out for coffee. They were both huddled in some worn corner booth, the mugs warming their hands as they stared out the window that had fogged with the steam. She looked over at FP, who was watching her calmly, glint in his eye. It had been so emotional for the both of them.

“What are we, FP? What am I going to do now?” She whispered, before pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth, feeling his sigh of content.

“We’re okay, Alice. We’ll figure it out.” He’d rumbled, and when she pulled back to look at his face, he was smiling, really and truly smiling, and something inside her chest pulled, something real. _Happiness,_ she realised with a jolt.

She knew then, that they’d be alright.

 

 

 


End file.
